What If?
by rosebud1000
Summary: A series of one-shots centered around my multi-chap, Twenty Letters. This will cover what-if scenarios relating to the original plot, as well as an epilogue, and sneak-peeks into the brainstorming that went into it. Genres will vary, updates will be sporadic.
1. What if Harry got the letters on time?

**Hello! Thank you for stopping by my story. None of these one-shots will make sense if you haven't read Twenty Letters (I wasn't able to put a link in, just visit my profile)** **.**

 **In order to reach out to the followers of the original story, and to stay within FF's rules, THE FIRST HALF OF THIS ONE-SHOT IS NOW THE LAST CHAPTER OF TWENTY LETTERS. Again, read that bit there before carrying on.**

 **For those of you who have read Twenty Letters, including the last chapter, here's an overview of what's going on: There's so many "What if?' scenarios connected to Twenty Letters that I couldn't resist writing a few. As stated in the summary, I won't be limited to "What if's." There will be an epilogue of what happened after the last letter at some point. A few ideas for the original plot will be revealed, and the title the story was almost given. Until then, enjoy!**

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Harry walked into his first potions lessons of his fifth year with sweaty palms and a ripe understanding of the professor awaiting him. Snape had been friends with his mum. Best friends, even. But he'd gone and called her a Mudblood. And the letter had made it seem like the wounds ran deep in Lily's heart to the day she died.

"Why are you so nervous, Harry?" Hermione asked him for the thousandth time that day. "It's just potions."

"Yes, but the letter," he reminded her.

"I didn't think you were actually going to tell him," Ron said.

"Of course I am! Mum wanted me to!"

"Well, so long as you don't explode anything, he might hear you out," Hermione said.

The lesson itself did nothing to help Harry's nerves. Hermione did all right, her potion having a small number of undissolved lacewing flies in it, but Harry's was far from great. It was thick with the dead insects, and smelled of old robes. Ron's was gloppy, and Neville's was bright red. Even the Slytherins, who received a plentiful amount of helpful tips from Snape, didn't do so well. It seemed that Snape had chosen an especially difficult potion for the first of the year.

After the lesson, during which Harry did better than normal, he approached the greasy-haired professor. Snape was as intimidating as ever, and looked down on Harry with such disdain that Harry wondered if it was ever possible for the man to have befriended his mother.

"Yes, Potter?"

"I have a message. From my mum."

"You have a message from your mum?" Harry nodded mutely. "Foolishness! Your mother is not a ghost!"

"No, sir. But she wrote me letters. And I found out-"

"You know."

"Yes, sir," Harry said. There was no need to ask what the professor had meant. Harry knew that he had called Lily a Mudblood.

"What did she say?" he asked, sounding exasperated. He turned away from Harry, moving essays from his desk.

"She said to tell you she's sorry."

At first, there seemed to be no reaction. Then, Snape turned to Harry, his coal black eyes flaming. "Leave, Potter!" he demanded.

Harry did as he was told, ducking out of the room for fear of Snape's recoil.

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Harry was just as nervous for their second potions class as he had been for the first. Snape hadn't seemed pleased with him after their last meeting, and Harry had no doubt the Snape would be even Snape-ier than normal.

"You told him something that's supposed to be good, right?" Hermione said. When Harry nodded, she continued. "So how can he be mad at you?"

"He's Snape," Ron reminded her. "He's always mad at Harry."

Hermione sighed and shook her head, which was just as good as her admitting Ron was right.

A half an hour into the lesson, Harry's potion was a vile green, even though it was supposed to resemble "a dark forest." Hermione's, naturally, was a shade darker than Harry's, and on its way to the correct colour. As Snape stepped toward him, cloak brushing the floor, Harry avoided the professor's gaze. He'd minimized his interactions with the man so far, and intended to keep the habit.

"Potter," Snape barked, staring into the potion.

"Yes, Professor?"

"One stir clockwise," he said, squinting into the luminous green depths.

"Sir?" Harry said, trying to decide if he'd heard correctly. It was always a possibility that Snape was going to sabotage his potion, Harry reminded himself.

"I said, one stir clockwise. Ask me again and you'll be getting the wrong instructions." With that, he left Harry's potion to go observe another student's.

"What just happened?" Hermione whispered to Harry.

"He told me how to fix my potion."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know."

"Well, even Ron's potion is a darker green than yours… I'd try it if I were you."

"Hey!" Ron said. "My potions aren't always that bad!"

"Last lesson wasn't your best," Hermione reminded him.

Harry carefully stirred his potion once clockwise. The green darkened to that of a lime. Still skeptical, he stirred it again. It was now the colour of grass. After several stirs, his potion was the desired shade, and he moved onto the next instruction.

No matter how weird it had been, Harry knew for sure it was because of what he'd told Snape. He didn't know what it meant, but he did know it was important. For the rest of the year, Harry, along with other Gryffindors (even Neville!), received significantly better treatment from the Potions Master. It seemed as though Gryffindor had risen in Snape's eyes, albeit not to Slytherin's level (which was unparalleled by any house), but to that of Hufflepuff.


	2. The Writing of a Letter

**This update happened a lot faster than it should have. In these hours since starting this story, I have made another decision. I will now start taking chapter requests. For example, if you like this chapter, and wanted to see a similar story, but for a different letter, you can put the idea in a review and I'll consider using it.**

 **Enjoy this behind-the-scenes drabble/one-shot! (Bonus points if you can guess the letter they're writing).**

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The Making Of

"James!" Lily cried, diving toward him as he folded their last letter into an envelope.

"What?"

"The ink's not dry yet!"

"It isn't?" James asked, unfolding the parchment. Sure enough, a smear of black had replaced her carefully inked words. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd used a drying charm."

"It doesn't matter," Lily declared. "Maybe we shouldn't even be writing these letters. We've wasted so much parchment and ink, and my hand keeps cramping up, and-"

"It's a wonderful idea," James assured her. "One I don't quite understand, but I like coming up with what to say. We just need a better way to write them."

"There might be," Lily said. "I think I read somewhere… Oh, where is the book?" Lily bent down the search the wide bookcase that took up half the wall in their sitting room.

"What's the title?" James asked, running his fingers along the spines. Nearly all the books were Lily's, and he'd given her almost an entire row of them. He always made a point of buying her Muggle books, fictional ones that told stories. Many of them speculated about magic, and while the subjects may have made James laugh, they took Lily into another world.

" _Advanced Home Spells,_ I think," Lily said.

"This one?" James asked, finding a book with a blue cover.

"That's it." Lily held out her hand for him to give it to her, but James held it over his head, out of her reach.

"Are you going to give it to me?" she asked.

"Give you what?" James asked, teasing.

"The book."

"In exchange for something, maybe," James said in a falsely musing voice.

"And what would that be?" Lily asked, eyebrows raised, though she full well knew his answer.

"How about… a kiss?"

Lily approached him so fast James had to catch his breath, and then her lips were brushing his- but just barely, and she drew away to make the kiss no more than a shadow. He passed the book to her smoothly, not missing beat, no matter how many of those his heart had just skipped.

"You don't have to barter for my kisses anymore, Potter," she reminded him, their faces just inches apart.

"In that case…" James wrapped his arms around her, realising he would never stop feeling the same anticipation he did before a kiss with Lily, and was about to press his lips to hers- when a loud wail echoed from upstairs, telling them Harry had woken from his nap.

"He always has the best timing, doesn't he?" Lily said, her voice light with the sarcasm James loved.

"The very best," James assured her, before climbing the stairs to find their son. The book (and Lily's charm) would have to wait.


	3. What if Lily's Miracle Came True?

**So... it's been a while since I updated this story. It isn't my main focus right now, but I was rereading the original story and got this idea. This is a more serious fic, with a James lives!AU. Anyway, enjoy! Don't forget, I'm accepting suggestions for What If's in the reviews.**

What if Lily's Miracle Came True?

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 _Take Harry and run!"_

 _James dove behind the couch, reaching for his wand. If he could get to it, then maybe,.._

" _Afraid to show your face?" The cold, high voice crooned. "Very well, I shall conitinue."_

 _James wanted to yell, to scream at him, but he knew not to. It'd better to come up from behind, to surprise him with a confunding spell, not to get himself killed. But he was too late. Voldemort glided up the stairs, to where Lily was with Harry. He heard her, but didn't know what she was saying. He saw the flash, and the screram echoed through the house. Harry was crying then, and a different flash and a different scream echoed, but it was not Harry. It was Voldemort._

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"Daddy, what you doing?" Harry asked, walking into James' room.

"Not much, little bud. Is Sirius being boring?" James carefully placed a piece of parchment behind his back so Harry wouldn't see. The letter had been creased many times and read, and was worn with the oil from his fingertips. Some of the ink was starting to fade, and James really needed to find a charm for that.

"Sirius boring," Harry agreed.

"Go ask him to not be boring, okay?" James said.

"In a minute," Harry promised. He crossed the room to the nightstand, and dragged his tiny fingers across the framed picture that was set up on it. "Love you, Mummy," he whispered, staring at the photo, where Lily and James spun in circles in the snow. Harry left the room, his fingerprints glinting on the glass. It was already covered in them; James never cleaned it. It felt wrong to clean off his son's streaky marks across Lily's face. It was the closest Harry would ever get to giving her sloppy baby kisses ever again.

James unfolded the parchment again, rereading the words. _And if, by some miracle, it's you and James reading these letters, instead of you and Sirius: I love you, James, I really do._ Lily had written that, in the same letter she said she knew how to save Harry. The letter comforted him, to remember how real she had been: long red hair, bright green eyes, and shorter than him. But it also made him feel useless. His last words to her hadn't meant anything. She would've done it anyway. "Take Harry and run!" As if she'd needed telling. She'd been planning it since they had gone into hiding. How much better it would have been to say "I love you." To have her leave with those words echoing in her ears.

James knew that in just over four years, he'd have to give Harry the first letter. Slowly, he'd have to give up all the pieces of Lily he had left. Harry deserved to remember Lily too, though in a very different way. Through the stories he and Sirius told, the letters she had helped write, the pictures of her that moved with the same gracefulness she had.

James wouldn't give him this letter, though. He knew it was selfish, but Harry didn't need it, and it gave James the kind closure he needed. He wasn't afraid to admit it, he'd been a mess after Lily's death. When he'd found the letter, it'd brought a kind of peace. She knew Harry was alive, and that she hadn't died in vain. And James intended to keep it that way. Sirius was already starting to warn him he was being overprotective, but Harry was young enough that he didn't mind.

Sometimes, he thought he felt the familiar tangle of hair next to him as he woke up, or the sound of her feet softly pat-pat-patting down the stairs. He could hear her laughing in his ear, like she had done after the first time they kissed. He could see her twirling in the dress Alice got her for her birthday, the bottom flaring up.

"I love you too, Lily," he whispered, gazing at the streaky glass covering the photo.


End file.
